Make believe
by My American Fictionary
Summary: Sometimes women just made her sick. – Snap shot of Halle during Misa and Takada’s dinner conversation. Implied Halle/Mello.


Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note.

Author's Notes: I'm new to this and it's still a mystery to me how people get themselves a beta reader. So this story hasn't been proof-read. I think I managed to hunt down most of the typos, but since I'm not a native-speaker, there might be grammar issues. Sorry for that.

But someone who reads this would like to volunteer for the job as my beta reader for future stories please don't hesitate to contact me.

Enjoy :-)

**Make-believe**

Between Today's Miss Takada and the bulldozers that made up her hand-picked team of female bodyguards, Halle felt out of place. In part, the job itself with its unique dos and don'ts was responsible for the sentiment. A bodyguard is expected to put aside his or her own concerns for about 24/7 while at the same time he or she is introduced to the details of somebody else's life. Protecting (or spying on) Kiyomi Takada presented Halle with society dinners instead of microwave meals, skirts instead of trousers, manicure and pedicure and face massages instead of a hot shower at the end of the day. Halle watched and felt her own insecurities rise to the surface. Women like Kiyomi made her self-conscious against her better judgment.

Being able to defend herself with body and mind alike was something to take pride in, she knew that. But it wasn't always that easy in the eyes of a world that still considered physical weakness and helplessness a sign of utmost femininity. Or so Halle suspected anyway. Obviously, Kiyomi had taken an abstracted liking to her in the way a queen esteemed a favorite court lady. With her long flaxen hair (courtesy of a bunch of Norwegian ancestors), slightly oblique golden-brown eyes (brought from Germany by her mother's mother) and tall, slender frame, Halle was a fairy in comparison to the other bodyguards. At the same time, her height, her non-Japanese origins, her pantsuits and her reserved appearance made her different enough from Kiyomi for Kira's spokeswoman to feel comfortable around her.

In short, Kiyomi Takada could acknowledge her belonging to the female sex but to a different and therefore non-threatening type of woman.

It was distressing to say the least be considered an innocuous if efficient tool by this elitist with the wrong loyalties. But for some reason it was even more distressing to watch this woman who actually inspired feelings of deficiency in Halle lower herself to not only attending but actually proposing a meeting like this. For the first time since she had taken up her job, Halle had felt inclined to question an order of her employer's when Kiyomi had told her to ask Misa Amane to dinner.

The mercurial young model – although even frailer and prettier than Kiyomi – lacked her sophistication and therefore failed to evoke any feelings of jealousy or inferiority in Halle. Amane had tried to take on Kiyomi the same way she supposedly had made use of the Death Note when it had fallen into her hands: like the proverbial child playing with a razor blade. Although she was almost a hundred percent certain that Kiyomi hadn't ever used her connection to Kira for getting rid of people she didn't approve of, Halle had stepped in. Amane's reaction had left little doubt though, that her intervening hadn't been appreciated.

And now they were seated at the table, sipping their wine, hurling barely hidden insults at each other. The queen and the princess, Halle thought, each regarding their counterpart as "the other woman". Here they were, sharpening their claws, blissfully unaware of how utterly ridiculous and disgracing the whole situation was.

Sometimes women just made her sick.

Making fools of themselves over a man with a beautiful face and a heart black as hell. To his credit, he probably didn't actually play them off against one another. Light Yagami was much too much absorbed in his schemes to give a damn about being loved or being fought over. Amane and Takada were mere tools; they did nothing for his ego. Yagami got his kicks from killing not from setting his females on each other. That was the worst part in Halle's eyes. They were perfectly capable of wringing each other's throats without him fueling their rivalry in any way.

Sometimes it was hard not to be ashamed of belonging to the female sex. No matter how objective she had to be in analyzing the details of this conversation, she couldn't help but internally scold both Misa and Kiyomi for sacrificing their dignity.

_Why yes_, Halle thought to herself wryly. _Bedding an ex-mafioso almost ten years your junior clearly makes you the most dignified person in this room._

Her own love life didn't exactly make her the poster girl for thought-out decisions in _that_ department, did it? Some might even say that by comparison chasing Light Yagami seemed like a very smart thing to do. But when all was said and done, there remained the slightly disturbing fact of a twenty-year-old equipped with heavy arms, outrageous clothing and an IQ of about 200 who was wanted in fourteen separate countries and managed to actually taste salty in spite of practically living on chocolate thus far being the only lover who could bring her to climax by penetration alone. Without using his fingers and without being any gentler or more skillful than the ones before him. It was upsetting at times.

Halle zoomed in on the conversation again, on Kiyomi declaring her objections against prolonging the tête-à-tête and Amane assuring her that she completely agreed. Such drama… Why was it that women did these things to themselves? Was it a vague but powerful yearning for love that they had all been inculcated with at a young age? The conviction that they were failures if they weren't loved? Leading to them looking for love in all the wrong places? Such as with a renegade Wammy's child who might just be using her for information?

Deep inside, Halle was fully aware of the fact that her soft spot for him had nothing to do with Mello being shockingly good and everything with him leaning in her kitchen door at four o'clock in the morning, voice quiet for once and sincere when he inquired about her deeper reasons for joining the hunt for Kira.

It was all about his eyes, hazy with the painkillers, and the way they held hers when she tended to his burns, and how he would drop that teal-colored gaze later – when she was walking through the apartment clad in nothing but a towel – as if suddenly shy of her and wasn't that something she needed to find out about… That was how it had started.

It was all about the vulnerability that ran through him like a flaw through a diamond.

And that was where it had brought her. Questioning the idiocies of other women when she too could have been in over her head if only she allowed herself to be. Even now, the thought of his frailty – carefully hidden under the repartee, the assertiveness and the temperamental outbursts – managed to make a tight feeling erupt in her chest. It was this trait first and foremost she felt attracted to. But she refused to let her little fits of tenderness develop into fully fledged affection. Just look where it got you. She'd deal with Mello the way she had dealt with the (educated, well-mannered, respectable, dependable, _boring_) men who had been there before him. There was a recipe how not to end up like Kiyomi Takada and Misa Amane.

No expectations. No possessiveness. No submitting herself to what ifs and daydreams. She would keep her head on her shoulders and be just fine.

As she threw a last glance at Amane waving the wine bottle after Kiyomi who made for the exit already, Halle decided that she almost believed herself.


End file.
